Ghost of Halloween Past

by McIntyre, Anna J

  “No. But I’m curious to see what’s going on over there. I’ll explain it after you check on the property.”

  Twenty minutes later, Bill called Adam back.

  “Nope, the electric meter is still gone,” Bill told him.

  “Are you sure?” Adam asked.

  “Of course I’m sure. What kind of question is that?” Bill sounded insulted.

  “It’s just that Joe Morelli was over here earlier and insisted the electricity was on in the house. Said he turned on a lamp in one of the rooms.”

  “What’s Morelli doing, hiding out in abandon houses and boozing it up, when he’s supposed to be working?” Bill laughed.

  “I am starting to wonder what he’s been smoking, if he is so certain there was electricity on in the house.”

  “Water’s off too,” Bill told him.

  “Are you sure?”

  “After I saw the electric meter was still gone, I figured I’d check to see if the place had any water. If you’ll remember, Presley House still had water when we stopped looking after it. But it’s off now. I guess you and the electric company weren’t the only ones who got tired of not getting paid.”

  Brian Henderson stopped at the doorway to Joe’s office and looked in. Joe sat alone at his desk, looking blankly at the telephone in his hand.

  “You okay?” Brian asked after watching Joe for a few moments.

  Joe looked up at Brian, shook his head, and then hung up the phone. “It’s the damnedest thing,” Joe muttered.

  Brian walked in the office and sat down at Joe’s desk. “What’s the problem?”

  “Remember when that lamp went on over at Presley House? The one in the upstairs bedroom, with the loose lightbulb?”

  “I remember you telling me about it. Why?”

  “I just got off the phone with the electric company, and they insist there isn’t a meter over there. There’s no electricity.”

  “They must have made a mistake. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “On the way back over here this morning, after we locked up the house, I stopped over at Frederickport Vacation Properties and had a talk with Adam Nichols. I found out they don’t take care of the property anymore. He’s the one who insisted there wasn’t a meter over there, and the electric company just confirmed it.”

  “If you saw the lamp work, then they’re obviously wrong. I wouldn’t get all worked up about it. So, who is taking care of the property now?”

  “I have no idea. I suspect no one. The contact information Adam had for the owners is out of date. I get a no longer in service message when I called the number. It was the same number the electric company had for the property.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be easy enough to track them down using the tax records. Whoever they are, I wish they’d do something about the property. It gets more rundown looking every year.”

  “But this thing about the electricity…”

  Brian stood up abruptly. “Come on, let’s go to lunch. I’ll buy you a burger.”

  “Eat now? Didn’t you just have breakfast?”

  “That was two hours ago, at least. Come on, it’s almost noon. We can swing by Presley House first and you can see the electric meter for yourself.”

  Joe stood up. “I suppose they could have made a mistake.”

  “Either that or the place really is haunted.” Brian laughed.

  Brian wasn’t laughing twenty minutes later when he stood with Joe outside Presley House and looked at the spot where the electric meter was supposed to be.

  “Well I’ll be damned…” Brian muttered, scratching his head.

  Joe stared at the meter-less spot. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Are you sure you saw the lamp light go on? Maybe it was a reflection from the sunlight on the bulb.”

  “No. I’m certain. That lightbulb was on! It went off, but when I screwed the bulb tighter, it went on again. Right before you came into the room I turned the lamp off.”

  The two men stood silently for a few moments. Finally, Brian spoke up.

  “There can only be one explanation.”

  “Please don’t say the place is haunted again,” Joe said.

  “No. I was going to say—batteries. The light is probably battery operated.”

  “It was an old lamp. Didn’t look like it had batteries to me.”

  “Did the lamp have a cord?” Brian asked.

  Joe shrugged. “I think so. I really don’t remember seeing one—or not seeing one.”

  “Then let’s go inside and have another look.”

  “We locked the door when we left this morning,” Joe reminded.

  “So we’ll break in. I’ll pick the lock.”

  “Break in?” Joe asked.

  “Hey, it’s all in the line of duty. You tried to contact the owners of the property—no one seems to know where they are. We’ll be in and out of here before you know it, and you’ll feel a lot better figuring out your lamp mystery.”

  “I don’t feel any better,” Joe said ten minutes later. He stood with Brian in the upstairs bedroom of Presley House staring at the antiquated lamp sitting on the dresser. There was no doubt—the lamp did not use batteries.

  “Maybe it’s the lightbulb,” Brian suggested.

  “How so?” Joe asked.

  “You know, one of those trick bulbs that magicians use.” Brian unscrewed the bulb and inspected it. He gently shook it. “No. This is a regular bulb all right. And it’s bad. Hear that rattle.” He shook the bulb again.

  Bewildered, Joe frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  Brian screwed the bulb back into the lamp’s socket. “Just means you thought you saw the light go on. It obviously didn’t.”

  Before Joe could respond, the lightbulb lit up.

  “Oh yeah, explain that,” Joe said in a low voice, his gaze riveted on the brightly lit bulb.

  Chapter Six

  Max had been sleeping in his favorite hiding place when the cops had barged into the room, waking him. Thankfully, neither of the men bothered to look under the bed. Their attention was focused solely on the lamp sitting on the dresser.

  He had to give the cops credit. Neither one went running and screaming out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Harvey would have liked that. Instead, the one called Brian calmly pulled the lamp cord from the wall, picked up the lamp, and took it with him as the two men left the room. The cops didn’t even flinch when the bulb remained lit as they carried it downstairs.

  Max knew Harvey was not happy the cops had taken the old lamp. Yet, he didn’t think he had a reason to be mad; after all, it was Harvey’s own fault. If he hadn’t been up to his old tricks, the cops would never have come back. As it was, there was still the matter of the dead body in the basement. If the cops started making the habit of twice-daily visits, they were bound to eventually find the dead guy, once he started smelling. Max needed to get out of there.

  He waited until the police car drove away to make his exit. Harvey didn’t notice Max slipping from the bedroom. He was too busy standing at the upstairs window, ranting at the cops as they drove away with the lamp. There were other ones in the house, yet none had lightbulbs. Not that they hadn't at one time, but over the years, Harvey managed to break each one. Or to be more accurate, each one had exploded, leaving behind the twisty end of the bulb plugged into its lamp’s socket. A few of the house’s light fixtures still had unbroken lightbulbs. Harvey would have to make do with those.

  “Just where do you think you’re going?” Harvey demanded angrily.

  Max froze. He had only made it halfway down the staircase. He turned to face Harvey, who stood on the second floor landing staring down at him.

  “I don’t want you leaving again,” Harvey told him.

  Wide-eyed, Max stared up at Harvey, who shook his head in disapproval.

  “Don’t stand there giving me that innocent look. I know you snuck out last night. You have no business roaming around town by yourself. It’s dangerous ou
t there. Don’t forget what happened when that cop picked you up the last time. You’d be dead by now if you hadn't managed to escape. I’ll keep you safe. Anyway, you need to stay here and help me look for it. I only have a week left. I have to find it this time!”

  Riveted to his place on the stairs, Max silently considered his options. He could try to make a run for it, but the chances of him getting out of the house before Harvey intervened were nonexistent. He had learned long ago, he was no match for Harvey. Reluctantly, Max made his way back up the stairs.

  Harvey smiled. “That’s better. I knew I could count on you, ol’ reliable Max. You’re the only one who has never let me down.”

  Max experienced a twinge of guilt over Harvey’s praise. It was true; Harvey really had no one else to help him. Yet, it wasn’t enough guilt to stop Max from escaping when the next opportunity arose. Which of course, would have to be when Harvey was occupied elsewhere.

  Max understood that once someone found the dead guy in the basement, the cops would be all over this place, searching from top to bottom for any clues on the killer. Max suspected that was what Harvey wanted.

  When Max reached the top of the staircase, Harvey turned and started walking down the hallway. He expected Max to follow him, which he did.

  “I thought we could go through the attic again. I keep thinking that has to be where they put it. Don’t you think so?” Harvey looked back to Max, expecting an answer.

  Max silently followed, thinking they’d had this same conversation a hundred times already. They were just going through the motions, he thought. Halloween would come and go—as it always did—without Harvey finding that which he so desperately sought. Harvey would leave, only to return again next year to start his search all over again. The only difference was that next year, Max would not be here to assist Harvey on his quest. He would either be locked up someplace—captured because of the attention brought to the house by the body in the basement—or living elsewhere. Max preferred the latter.

  When they reached the attic, Harvey told Max to climb up into the rafters and have a look around. Max silently did as he was told without reminding Harvey they had both been through the rafters countless times before. That would only upset Harvey, which Max had long since learned was not advisable.

  Last year, Max had foolishly balked when Harvey had announced they needed to search through the closets on the second floor. It was something they had done just the day before. At the time of Harvey’s suggestion, Max was at the top of the ladder in the basement, peeking into a vent. Weary from poking through every inch in the dusty old house, and wanting to get off the ladder and take a nap, Max had foolishly reminded Harvey that they had just been through the closets.

  While Max had wanted to get down off the ladder, he hadn’t expected it to happen so abruptly. A moment after he mentioned the recent search, Harvey angrily hurled him from the ladder, onto the hard concrete floor. By the time Max had managed to get back to his feet, he found himself locked in the basement, where he stayed for two days—without food or water. Later, Harvey apologized, regretting his impulsive behavior—and the fact that Max limped for several weeks. It was the irrational side of Harvey which so terrified Max.

  Clinging to a rafter, Max looked down. Harvey was no longer watching him, but indulging in his own exploration along the floorboard. From Max’s vantage point up high, Harvey looked not much different from those teenage boys who came every year to play Halloween tricks on their friends at the old abandoned house.

  His tangled mop of brown hair looked as if it hadn’t seen a comb in years. He wore faded denim jeans—several sizes too large—with a makeshift belt made of rope to keep the pants from falling down, and a white button down shirt, its ragged collar stained in blood. The blood didn't belong to the body downstairs. Max wondered if the boy had ever owned a pair of shoes. His feet were always bare. There was something a little endearing about Harvey—in spite of the fact that he occasionally inspired moments of sheer terror.

  A part of Max sincerely wanted to help Harvey, yet he had long since realized it was a hopeless cause. It wasn’t in the house. They would have found it by now. They were simply going through the motions, and Max was doing whatever he needed to keep Harvey from going off the deep end again—at least, until Max found a new place to live.

  Max knew where he wanted to go. He wanted to see her again. Closing his eyes, forgetting for a moment that Harvey was below, Max’s mind wandered to another pretty young thing.

  She was a beautiful girl, with hair as dark as his was—if one did not count the bit of white around Max’s ears. Their first meeting included stolen kisses and false promises. They called her Victoria and she told him he could live with her—but it would have to be their secret—no one could know. To prove his love, Max had killed for her. In looking back, that seemed to be what ultimately had ended their relationship.

  She had led him on. Each night they had met under the large tree in her backyard, where she would hold him and promise to love him forever. But then the day after he proved his love, she turned him away, told him to never come back.

  He didn’t understand. Had it all been a lie? Unable to stay away, Max returned to her house, and when she refused to come outside, he pounded on the door, demanding to see her. When the door opened, it wasn't his Victoria but an angry looking man. The man wasn’t alone; he had friends with him and they were all shouting ugly words at Max. He could see Victoria in the kitchen. She was crying but she made no effort to come to his defense. Max instinctively knew he was in danger so he turned from the door and tried to get away, but the man and his friends were on him before he got off the porch.

  The next thing Max knew, the man had turned him over to the police, and he was locked up. Had he not managed to escape, he would be dead now. While on the run, Max had come across the abandoned old house and it had become his refuge. But now it was too risky to stay, especially with Harvey’s reckless behavior. If captured again, he was certain to face a death sentence.

  Max crawled along the rafters for over an hour before Harvey wandered off, forgetting about the attic—forgetting about Max. When Max was certain Harvey wasn't coming back, he climbed down from the rafters and made his way downstairs, careful to stay out of Harvey’s way.

  The moment Max slipped outside he felt a mixture of freedom and fear. When the outside world wasn't trying to invade Presley House, it was a safe harbor, a shelter. It seemed as if he had` spent most of his life there. Yet, even without threats from the outside, it could be a lonely place. He then thought about the woman—the woman with the braided hair. Was she the answer?

  Max wanted to go back to her house, learn what he could about her, and decide on his best plan of attack. There was still a lot of daylight left, and he didn’t want to just show up at her house in the middle of the afternoon. He had tried that tactic with Victoria, and the results proved disastrous. This time he would need to be crafty and cunning. He decided to head down to the beach, lay low, and kill a little time before the sun went down.

  By the time he reached the beach, he was ready for a nap. Climbing around in the rafters earlier had been exhausting. Walking along the boardwalk, he glanced down the beach and was pleased to see only a few people milling around. Looking for a quiet stretch of sand to call his own, Max picked up his pace. Then he saw it: a quiet area where he could take a nap without anyone disturbing him. Looking around nervously, making sure no one was watching him, he darted from the boardwalk onto the beach, racing some 300 feet to his ultimate destination.

  Lying down on the sand, he closed his eyes. It was chilly out, yet the sun warmed him, and he quickly fell asleep. Max hadn’t been asleep for more than thirty minutes when a brutal kick to his side sent him sprawling across the sand. Momentarily stunned, he looked up into the angry face of a man carrying a piece of driftwood.

  “Get out of here!” the man shouted, raising the driftwood over his head. “You don’t belong here!”

  Max di
dn’t have to be told twice. Scrambling to his feet, he barely escaped a second blow. Racing toward the boardwalk, he didn’t look back. He ran until he could no longer run. Finally coming to a stop, now more exhausted than before, Max looked back. The man was gone. It hadn’t always been this way for Max. Once he had a home, someone to love.

  Chapter Seven

  Danielle peeked into the doorway of the downstairs bedroom. She found Lily wiping down the furniture with a rag. “Whatcha doing?” She stepped into the room.

  Lily looked up at Danielle and stopped dusting. “Getting rid of my cooties. So this room will be ready for a guest.”

  “You can let Joanne do that. It’s her job.” Danielle leaned casually against the doorjamb and watched as Lily resumed her dusting.

  “I know, but I’m not helpless. Plus, I need to do something around here to earn my keep.”

  “I’m just grateful you’re here and doing so well.”

  Lily tossed the rag to the dresser and turned to face Danielle. “Me too. And I’m so darn grateful I don’t have to be hooked up to that IV anymore!” Lily glanced down to her arm where her pic line had been. She then looked at her tattoo.

  “What are you thinking?” Danielle asked.

  Lily looked from her tattooed arm to Danielle, while rubbing her hand gently over the colorful dragon. “I got another compliment on the tattoo the other day.”

  Danielle studied Lily’s expression. “Does that help?”

  Lily shrugged. “Not really. I don’t think I ever told you this, but last year I considered getting a tattoo. Because of work, I was going to go with something I could easily cover up with clothes. Maybe a cute little something on my hip or back.”

  “Why didn’t you do it?”

  “Figured if I was going to ink something permanently on my skin I wanted it to mean something. But I just couldn’t get worked up over the butterflies and flowers I looked at.”

  Danielle nodded to Lily’s tattoo. “Unfortunately, that one is kinda hard to conceal without long sleeves.”